


to somehow escape the burning weight

by NinthFeather



Category: Gundam 00, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (in other words nothing happens 'onscreen'), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Study, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Hurt/Minimal comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One Night Stands, References to Depression, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27372853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinthFeather/pseuds/NinthFeather
Summary: There was something that reminded Tim of Daisy in Neil’s voice when he said “important things.” A sharpness, a predatory edge. He wanted to recoil from it, but honestly, it was…kind of attractive.Tim has made some...questionable decisions over the last few months. What's one more?
Relationships: Neil Dylandy/Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	to somehow escape the burning weight

**Author's Note:**

> Arguably, this is just the advanced crossover form of my old oneshot “Meanwhile, In Ireland” (included in my Island of Misfit Toys collection, if anyone wants to read a 5+ years old fic).
> 
> It’s set in late S3 for TMA and late S1 for G00. Yes, I know that TMA is set in a world more-or-less like ours while G00 is set several centuries in the future; I’m just handwaving that. If you think about it too hard it’ll absolutely break down so just suspend your disbelief, please.
> 
> Please mind the tags, and note that all characters’ opinions (particularly Tim’s opinion of Jon) are their own. Also, no, I don’t really know how it turned into a shipfic either, the characters just kinda started flirting.
> 
> This fic draws on the Neil headcanon presented in [Laora’s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora) fic [heaven turns away as the skies come crashing down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984598) and [sapphireswimming’s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphireswimming/pseuds/sapphireswimming) fic [Tacenda](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381815). It’s 1) my headcanon and 2) very useful for this crossover.
> 
> This thing is unbetaed, so here's hoping my own editing was sufficient this time. I am posting while I have a migraine, though, so if there's issues I'll come back and fix them later.
> 
> Title from [“Someone New” by Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPJSsAr2iu0), which I found through [recompense-a tim stoker playlist by elissa1186](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Sy6x0qZM2EEvQfJZx4ZEx?si=KeNn0ozpT1K4m99YAHebPA) on Spotify.
> 
> Warnings in the end-note, as always!

The TV at the bar was playing the 6 o’clock news. Something about Celestial Being blowing up a PMC in Sudan? Sh*t, but all of that had felt far away for the last few months. What with his job trying to kill him eight different ways and the  _ thing _ that killed his brother moving on to trying to end the world, Tim had completely forgotten about the weirdo pacifist terrorists running around and inserting themselves in local conflicts.

The whole thing seemed pretty nutty to Tim, but then again, so did flesh-eating worms, and look how that had turned out.

“Whole world’s going to h*ll, I guess,” he muttered into his drink.

“What was that?” the guy next to him at the bar asked.

He was a handsome sort, green eyes and wavy brown hair, even if his haircut was too close to a mullet for comfort. The fur-lined vest was a little much, though. Even so, a few months ago, Tim probably would’ve already been halfway to convincing him to come back to his apartment, assuming he was interested. After everything…well, all the scarring from Prentiss’s attack had scared off two potential partners in a row, and the nightmares had chased off a third.

“Nothing, nothing,” Tim said, trying to summon up some of the old charm.

“You sure?” the man asked. “Because it sounded like you said the world’s going to h*ll, and if you did, well, I’ll drink to that.” He had a distinct Irish accent—not _rare_ for London, but unique enough to make him interesting.

Tim snorted. “Cheerful, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m a regular ray of sunshine,” the man said. “Someone has to be.”

Tim felt his mood abruptly sour as he thought of Martin. “No, they don’t.”

“Oh?” the man responded. Not a leading question, not one of Jon’s attempts to pry him open, just…an offer.

“Work’s gone to h*ll, and I’m the only one who’ll admit it,” he said.

“Know that feeling,” the man said.

“Not like this, you don’t,” Tim snapped. “And what’s your name, anyway?”

“Call me Neil,” the man said, which wasn’t quite an answer. “What’s yours?”

“Tim,” Tim said. “And seriously, you ever nearly get killed on the job?”

“Oh, yeah, lots of times,” Neil said blithely.

Tim stared.

Neil frowned at him. “Was that…not something you signed up for?”

“No!” Tim exclaimed. “I work at—at a f*cking research institution!”

“Okay, well now I’m actually confused,” Neil said.

“If I explain what happened, you won’t believe me,” Tim said. Neil opened his mouth, and Tim held up a hand. “You _won’t_ , and I’ll get pissed off, and it’s not worth it.”

Neil looked a bit put out, but settled back into his seat, mouth firmly closed.

“But the short version is, since I got, heh, ‘promoted,’ to archival assistant, I’ve nearly died twice,” Tim said. “I can’t quit, and I can’t go to the police about the murders that my boss _literally_ confessed to in front of the staff.”

Neil’s eyes narrowed. “Is someone threatening you?”

“No—er, yeah, I mean, he’s threatening us, but that’s not why we can’t quit,” Tim said. “Look, you’re gonna laugh at me.”

“Try me,” Neil said.

“Not happening,” Tim said. “I don’t want you sucked into the spooky sh*t too. Probably shouldn’t even be talking to people at bars anymore.”

“Spooky…” Neil repeated, sounding baffled. “Look, whatever this is, if you’re not safe, there are people you can go to—”

“Sometimes there aren’t,” Tim said, looking him in the eye. “Sometimes what’s after you isn’t something they can handle.”

Neil held his gaze, and there was something about his expression that was older and more tired than his appearance suggested. Not in, like, a monster-y way, but…it felt weird to say it, but he reminded Tim of Jon a bit. Exhausted and aged past what he should be.

It was a testament to Tim’s awful luck that he’d just run into this kind of guy in a bar.

“So, getting your boss out of the way wouldn’t help?” Neil asked.

“I told you we can’t call the police,” Tim said. “And if you mean ‘getting him out of the way’ as in killing him, Melanie’s already tried. Several times.”

“Does he…not die?” Neil asked, looking genuinely unsettled for the first time.

“Nah, he just knows what she’s gonna do before she tries it,” Tim said. “Kind of his thing, knowing.”

“Is he going to know about this conversation?” Neil asked.

“I have no idea, and honestly, I try not to think about it,” Tim said. “I know that in the Institute—where I work—he can see…most things? Except in the tunnels. But I don’t know about the rest of London.”

“That’s creepy,” Neil said. “And possibly a problem for me. Might have to stop visiting London after this.”

“Oh?”

“My job involves some classified stuff,” Neil said. “I’d really rather not risk your boss somehow knowing it because I’m here.”

“Ah,” Tim said, putting that together with some of Neil’s previous comments and deciding that asking Neil about his own work was probably a bad idea. “Well, if it’s your last night in London, you should make it a good one.”

“Actually, it’s my last night on Earth for a while,” Neil said. “Got a big work project coming up. Some…important things to take care of.”

There was something that reminded Tim of Daisy in Neil’s voice when he said “important things.” A sharpness, a predatory edge. He wanted to recoil from it, but honestly, it was…kind of attractive.

“All the more reason to make the best of it,” Tim said.

Neil grinned at him. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Well, you could try to see some of the sights,” Tim said. “But everything’s closed, and if I’ve learned one thing from work, it’s that wandering London at night’s a stupid idea. So, come home with me.”

“That boss of yours might be paying more attention to your place,” Neil said.

Tim grimaced, but played it off. “I’m not suggesting we discuss your job, if you catch my drift.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “This is a bad idea.”

“Only kind I have, if you ask some people,” Tim said lightly, even though he privately agreed. It _was_ a bad idea. That’s why he wanted to do it.

Shaking his head, Neil laughed. “Okay, you know what, sure. Let’s go.”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It was late--probably well after 2, but Tim didn’t want to look at the clock. Knowing how much sleep he was missing never helped the insomnia.

He glanced to the left. He was the only one in his bed.

For a few moments, a faint, exhausted feeling of betrayal washed through him--and then he heard a series of metallic clicks from near the window.

Neil was standing by the window, outlined in the light from the nearby streetlamps and fumbling with a lighter, a cigarette clenched between his lips.

Tim wanted to actually care that his room was going to smell like smoke tomorrow, but he didn’t, really.

“At least _open_ the window, first,” he muttered, throwing a hand over his eyes.

Neil exclaimed softly, and presumably dropped the lighter, judging by the thumping sound. A few seconds later, the clicking started up again. When Tim finally bothered looking at Neil again, he’d managed to set the cigarette alight.

The tiny, red-orange flame caught the ropy scars on Neil’s palms, throwing them into relief, making them look deeper and more terrible than they were. Not that they weren’t already terrible.

The _last_ thing that Tim wanted to be doing at a time like this was thinking about his a**hole stalker boss, but Neil was making it hard, between his smoking habit and his burnt-to-h*ll hands. 

He’d only taken off the gloves when they’d gotten to Tim’s bedroom. Before Tim could do more than blink at the scars in surprise, Neil had gone straight to negotiation.

“I don’t ask about your scars, you don’t ask about mine,” was a fair enough deal, Tim supposed. But for all that Tim’s f*cking worm scars were probably _weirder_ , Neil had a bigger variety. Some of what he’d said at the bar suggested that his job was violent, but his body was the evidence. 

Other than Jon, Tim had never actually seen anyone with a knife scar in real life. Neil had a couple, along with what Tim was pretty sure were bullet scars. Probably. What did he know? He’d never actually seen one before.

Neil was a whole different type of danger from The Magnus Institute’s normal variety. Tim was intrigued. Sure, his main goal was and would always be taking out that clown for what it did to his brother. But no one said he couldn’t have a little fun in the meantime.

At the window, Neil inhaled smoke, his eyes distant.

Tim tried, again, to pull together the tattered bits of his old self just long enough to charm an answer out of this man. “Was it that bad?”

Neil fumbled his cigarette, nearly dropping it out the window. “What?”

“Well, I mean, I had a nice time, but there you are, staring out the window with your eyes all sad,” Tim said.

“I was just people-watching,” Neil said.

“It’s the middle of the night!”

“There’s people out,” Neil said defensively.

“You weren’t looking at them, though,” Tim said.

“Nah, not really,” Neil said. He was quiet for a few seconds. “Look, I thought we were being casual about this.”

“That was the plan.”

“Asking me why I’m upset isn’t exactly casual.”

“I’m a bit out of practice at human connection, screw you.”

Neil laughed at that, but it was a broken, off-color thing. “So am I, I guess.”

“I’m not asking you to confess all your deepest, darkest secrets,” Tim said, just the thought leaving a bad taste in his mouth. F*cking _Jon_. 

“Good,” Neil said. “You couldn’t handle my deepest, darkest secrets.”

Tim just snorted. “Job involves a fair number of those, actually.”

“Ah, the oh-so-mysterious terrible job,” Neil said. “For the record, I was just thinking about _my_ job. Things are going to change, soon, and I’m nervous. There’s not much more I feel comfortable saying, considering your boss might be watching.”

“That hush-hush?”

“If I leak something, I will get killed,” Neil said. “If I’m _lucky_ , one of my coworkers will be the ones to do it.”

“That’s...are you SIS or something?” Tim asked.

“I’m _Irish_ ,” Neil said. “I don’t work for the British government. But even if I did, would I tell you?”

“Okay, sorry,” Tim said.

Neil took a breath. “There’s just...there’s one single reason I took my job, and I think I can finally make everything else worth it.”

Tim thought about Danny’s death and years of research on Robert Smirke and finally learning about Nicola and the Unknowing.

“You know, I get that?” he said.

“Well, then, wish me luck,” Neil said.

“Only if you wish me the same,” Tim replied.

“Sure,” Neil said, absently tapping ash away from his cigarette.

“Thanks,” Tim said. He only meant to close his eyes for a second.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The sound of the shower woke Tim up the next morning. He hadn’t set his alarm, too tipsy and…distracted, but it was still well before he was expected at the Institute. Not that he really paid too much attention to getting in on time nowadays.

He fumbled around in the kitchen for a bit, feeling like an out-of-practice running stretching a muscle he hadn’t used in months. He used to have people over all the time. Not just for casual hookups, but for dinner and dates and…

But first Danny, then the worms, and then the knowledge he was tied to the Institute…by the time he found out Sasha was dead, he was already halfway to being a recluse.

Ugh, spiders. Jon’s phobia was contagious.

But it didn’t feel natural anymore, to have another person in his flat. It felt like a game, like a distraction from the real world of monsters and danger and death that waited for him at work. Even knowing that Neil got it at some level, that he had a dangerous job of his own, didn’t really help. This all felt like a stack of blocks, set to come down.

He stared at the contents of the refrigerator in despair. None of it looked appetizing. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to eat.

“Hey, I’ll take care of breakfast while you get a shower, ok?” Neil suggested.

Tim startled. The other man was leaning against the side of the entrance to the kitchen. His hair was dark with moisture, and his t-shirt clung damply to his torso.

Tim decided the shower was a _great_ idea.

He returned to the kitchen dressed in yet another outfit that Elias should by all rights fire him for—this time, a pair of bleached cutoff shorts, tie-dye socks, and a black shirt that said “EAT THE RICH” in giant, fluorescent-green font.

“Can’t say I disagree, but is there an occasion?” Neil asked. He was…chopping fruit.

“Don’t people normally…cook, when they offer to make breakfast?” Tim asked.

“Didn’t want to burn down your flat,” Neil said. “And you looked like your appetite was giving you trouble. Fruit usually works for me on days like that.”

“You have a stomach problem?” Tim asked.

“Nah, I just sometimes don’t see the point in eating,” Neil said, tone perfectly cheerful.

“You seeing a therapist about that?” Tim asked.

“Are you?” Neil asked.

“Point.”

Neil handed him a plate of sliced-up apples, strawberries, and bananas. “Eat at least some of it. Low blood sugar makes terrible jobs worse.”

“Know that from experience?”

“Yeah,” Neil said, washing off an apple and proceeding to take a bite out of it.

Despite himself, Tim winced. It had been months, at least, since that doctor came into the Institute and, still, _none_ of them could eat apples without slicing them open first.

Neil was giving him an odd look again.

Tim waved him off. “Work stuff.”

“…Involving apples?” Neil asked at length.

“Told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

“You know, this stuff isn’t as far out for me as you probably think it is,” Neil said. “I’ve got a supersoldier on my team at work.”

“What, like, Captain America?” Tim asked sarcastically.

“No, geez, you really have been wrapped up in your job,” Neil said. “The HRL was making supersoldiers. It was all over the news.”

“Sh*t, really?”

“Yeah, really,” Neil said.

“Surprised we didn’t get more people coming to us about that,” Tim muttered. “Or that vampire hunter man, can’t remember his name, going to try and kill ‘em.”

“Vampire hunter?”

“Don’t even ask,” Tim said with a sigh.

“But yeah, I’ve seen some weird stuff,” Neil said. “Not, uh, vampire hunter weird, but the idea that the supernatural exists…it’s not out of the blue for me.” He took another bite of the apple, then chewed on it thoughtfully. “Are ghosts a thing?”

“I mean, yeah?” Tim said, a bit thrown. “Why?”

“It’s the kind of thing you wonder about, isn’t it?” Neil asked.

“You do, maybe,” Tim replied.

“Look, I’ve got a lot of dead family members, so wanting to know if they’re over in Ireland haunting a bombing site—” Neil started, and there was something hard under his tone.

“Look, if you’re lucky, they just passed on like normal, to wherever normal dead people go,” Tim said harshly.

Tim could see Neil trying to calm down—closing his eyes, inhaling deeply, then exhaling.

“How’s that lucky, in your world?” Neil asked.

“Because in my world, people don’t just _die_ , they get eaten by worms, or erased from existence and replaced by something else that you don’t notice isn’t them until a year later, or skinned by some sort of undead clown.”

Neil was giving him that _look_ , the one that meant he’d stopped believing him, or at least stopped tolerating him. Once again, Tim’s feelings and experiences were too much. The people around him could cope how they liked. Melanie’s murder attempts, Jon’s withdrawn harshness, Basira’s passive acceptance, Martin’s attempts to force everything to be okay—all of _that_ was fine, but there was no room for Tim or his emotions.

“I think you should leave,” Tim managed.

“Yeah,” Neil replied. “Yeah, I really think I should.”

Neil slammed the door behind him harder than was strictly necessary.

Tim, in turn, tossed his half-eaten apple at the trash hard enough that it shook the container. Then, he sat down on the floor.

He still had to change the sheets and go back into the Institute. Back to watching Martin quietly pine after Jon, while Basira and Daisy leaned harder and harder on their connection to one another, and Sasha’s desk sat empty.

“ _D*mmit_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for TMA-typical horror elements, including references to the Jane Prentiss incident, not!Sasha, Tim’s backstory, Elias’s Beholding powers, and MAG 34 (Anatomy Lesson). Very lightly implied offscreen sex. Also, alcohol use, cigarette use, implied depression, PTSD, and disordered eating.
> 
> This plotbunny was not designed for a sex-repulsed ace but it hit me like a truck and I did my best with it.
> 
> Anyhow, please find me on tumblr as [@ninthfeather](https://ninthfeather.tumblr.com/) if you wanna yell about the similarities between these two and the tragedy inherent in the fact that they chose to deal with their unprocessed trauma via throwing themselves into fatal danger.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
